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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25872736">Off Target</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockStrikesThree/pseuds/ClockStrikesThree'>ClockStrikesThree</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>awhphooey's Triplet Trap AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Mistaken Identity, Triplet Trap AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:47:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,373</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25872736</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockStrikesThree/pseuds/ClockStrikesThree</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dewey has trouble adjusting to life in the mansion, Gyro brings Scrooge’s attention to something he should have noticed years ago, and the richest duck in the world and the duckling he thinks is his nephew have several awkward, confusing conversations --- not entirely in that order. </p><p>(For awhphooey's Triplet Trap AU on tumblr)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Huey Duck &amp; Scrooge McDuck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>awhphooey's Triplet Trap AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896511</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Off Target</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As stated in the summary, this for awhphooey’s Triplet Trap AU! If you don't know what that is, this story won't make a lick of sense, so go check it out. In short, Huey, Dewey, and Louie were all raised separately after an argument made Della, Donald, and Scrooge stop talking. After a chance meeting, the boys (not knowing they're brothers) decide to play a prank on their respective families and switch places. This takes place during the first switch, over the course of about a week. Scrooge refers to Dewey as Hubert, because he doesn’t know it’s a different kid.</p><p>(I wrote all of this out of order, so if it feels disjointed, we’re just going to pretend that was a thematic choice and not me being a dumbass).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It had been ten minutes, and Scrooge still hadn’t said a word to Dewey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Actually, it had been more than ten minutes. Last night felt like a dream, sneaking into a mansion after meeting and switching clothes with two strangers who shared his face. Dewey could hardly believe his own daring. Following the map Hubert had drawn for him, he’d gotten inside with no one the wiser. He’d stayed up well into the night, snooping through Hubert’s stuff and the rooms nearest his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now here he was, having breakfast with the richest duck in the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same duck who hadn’t said a word since he walked in earlier, not even a gruff “Good morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was dead silent. Every clink, every scrape of the fork against his plate had Dewey internally cringing. He squirmed in his seat. Breakfast in the boathouse was never this quiet. Uncle Donald would be clanking around, throwing pans in the sink, nagging Dewey to get a used cup out of the dishwasher and complaining about leaks and bosses in the same breath. Fethry would chip in with some random fact or anecdote that fit the conversation in a way only he could see, which would send Donald onto a whole new tangent as they scraped the food from their plates and fought over the last piece of toast. All the while, the ocean and the shriek of birds and ship horns would carry on, the white noise of the dockyards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey had never been this far from the harbor, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright then, let’s have it.” Scrooge said, breaking the silence. He held out an expectant hand without looking up from his newspaper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey blinked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Play it cool, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” He blurted, and could have kicked himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrooge gave him a flat look over the top of the page.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The files, lad. You said you were going to reorganize my paperwork for the meetings today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that paperwork. Heh heh. Yeah, I didn’t do it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t do it?” That finally seemed to catch Scrooge’s full attention. He gaped at Dewey, the paper meeting the table with a light thwack. “Are ye sick or something, lad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Dewey stumbled. “Just...” Forgot? Didn’t have any idea he was supposed to have done something, because he took all of three minutes to switch clothes and lives with two complete strangers? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just didn’t feel like it.” Dewey ended up saying, tagging on a careless shrug and a smile. Hubert was an only child living in a mansion; he would probably give some equally snobbish and evasive answer, right? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t feel like it?” Scrooge repeated incredulously. “You cannae just decide to not do something if you don’t feel like it! I did not raise a quitter!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You didn’t raise me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dewey barely managed to bite back. He hated being reprimanded, especially when he hadn’t done anything wrong. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Focus, Dewey! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, did you really need that paperwork reorganized? Because if it’s already there and organized, I don’t know what </span>
  <em>
    <span>re</span>
  </em>
  <span>doing it is gonna do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not the point!” Scrooge sputtered. “If you say you’re going to do something, you cannae just back out on a whim. McDuck Enterprises promises good, reliable services to the community. If you’re going to be in charge some day you need to learn to take the work seriously at every level of the company. Even the smallest jobs are important and must be done well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Woah. When did this become an argument about Scrooge’s company? Dewey blinked, confused. Had he missed something?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Dewey could think of a response, Scrooge glanced at the clock, then did a double take when he saw the time. “Ach, I’m going to be late!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better get going then.” Dewey immediately regretted his words. Too late, he realized what would have been a friendly reminder to Uncle Donald came out as a sarcastic jab. Scrooge’s scowl deepened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch your mouth, you discourteous ditherer.” He said, jabbing his cane in Dewey’s direction. “We’re not through with this. Now go do your chores. No slacking off, ye hear?” Fixing him with one last fierce glare, Scrooge turned and left. As soon as he heard the door slam, Dewey slumped in his chair with a sigh of relief. Being on the receiving end of a McDuck glare was </span>
  <em>
    <span>intense</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Recovering, Dewey straightened up and swung his feet. He’d managed to piss off Scrooge in a matter of seconds, without even trying. Granted, it wasn’t his fault that he was so unprepared… He pulled out his phone and opened a group message with the two newest numbers in his phone. He was supposed to be pretending to be Hubert, and to do that, he needed to know more. He had to do better than this, or their little prank would be over before they could have any real fun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Message sent, Dewey glanced around the empty room, noting the portraits on the walls and all the ornate decorations and furniture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It couldn’t hurt to do some more exploring while he waited for an answer.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>With the amount of work he piled on himself, Scrooge’s days off came few and far between. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll retire when I’m dead, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he liked to tell his staff. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Time is money, and I don’t waste time. </span>
  </em>
  <span>All the same, it was nice to spend a quiet day at home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, if only his nephew would keep still so Scrooge could enjoy his tea in peace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrooge had never seen Hubert so fidgety. His nephew usually brought a book to teatime, always reading whenever Scrooge wasn’t quizzing him on his lessons or presenting whatever silly little checklist he’d completed since the last one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now he sat opposite of Scrooge, tapping his fingers in made up rhythms, shifting position every ten seconds. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Like he has ants in his pants</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Scrooge thought, one of Goldie’s strange American phrases coming to mind. Scrooge stirred his tea carefully. He hoped it wasn’t about their little spat two days ago. He thought they’d put it behind them, but his nephew had been acting oddly ever since. If the boy had something to say, he’d best learn to just come out and say it. One had to learn to make themselves heard if they wanted to be successful in the business world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrooge looked up, and suddenly Hubert was </span>
  <em>
    <span>there </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the chair closest to him. Scrooge jumped, any embarrassment over the startled noise he let out evaporating under the intense, bright eyed stare the boy gave him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it true you defeated a rock giant and carved a statue of yourself out of its leg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrooge nearly dropped his cup. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What? Where on earth did he hear about that? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also, did you really fight a manticore? What about pirates, did you ever fight pirates? Have you ever been to another dimension? Obviously you’re too old now but is it true you used to hunt for treasure just so you could swim in it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now wait just a-- Hold on! Where did you hear all this?” Scrooge interrupted, taken aback by the barrage of questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adventure. Hubert was talking about adventure. More specifically, Scrooge’s adventures. Much as he tried, the memories were never far from his mind. The thrill of discovery, the terror and exhilaration of the chase -- Scrooge missed it desperately, but he had boxed up and hidden that part of his life for a good reason. Adventure was the very thing that tore his family apart. He had lost his niece and nephew, and two other grandnephews besides, thanks to the love of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last thing he wanted was for his dear grandnephew, the only family member Scrooge had left, to develop a taste for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrooge had packed up every artifact and photo in the house. The treasure stayed in the Money Bin. He had expressly forbidden anyone from talking about adventure on his property. That wasn’t enough, it seemed. Hubert had gotten into the garage years ago, found Quackfaster and the library. He’d been banned from both, but now… Now, someone had clearly been filling Hubert’s head with stories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert was tapping his fingers on the table again, avoiding Scrooge’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you know, here and there, around. I also… found some stuff in the house.” He hedged, and Scrooge slammed his cup on the table. Tea spilled over his fingers, but he was too annoyed to care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you years ago, Hubert. Stay out of the blasted garage!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>garage</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now the lad was just being cheeky. Scrooge scowled at him. Hubert flinched, and Scrooge felt a slight twinge of regret. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sooo… Does that mean you didn’t do all that stuff? Because that statue in the garage made me think--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you have so much time on your hands, you can come help me in the office.” Scrooge snapped. Better to distract the boy than feed his curiosity. “Your week of rest is over. In fact, why wait to get to the Bin? I have some files at home that need seeing to.” </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dewey was going stir crazy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the exception of a few locked rooms he couldn’t get into (and Scrooge’s personal quarters, which he didn’t dare go into) he had explored the entire mansion. After that, he’d found out that there was. Nothing. To. Do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mansion was quieter than a tomb. Scrooge was gone all day, and when he wasn’t, he was holed up in his rooms or doing old people stuff like drinking tea. Dewey thought that asking about all the stories and paintings and junk he’d found from Scrooge’s past would get him to liven up, but instead it just made him even grouchier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey couldn’t believe he ever thought the houseboat was boring. (He’d never say it out loud, but he was starting to miss the houseboat. At least there he could talk to his uncle without it turning into an argument.)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Check the accounting for the St. Canard properties, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Scrooge had said earlier. Hubert probably agreed to the switch just so he could get out of his boring nerd work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey went to the desk where he’d left the binder Scrooge had given him. He was living Hubert’s life after all. He should at least try to do it. Sighing, Dewey opened it, and immediately cringed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Numbers. So many numbers. There were also a bunch of words he couldn’t make heads or tails of -- what the heck was equity, or dividends, or capital? And he didn’t know the difference between credit and debit cards in his normal life, let alone what they meant with a list of numbers under them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey closed it, mildly disgusted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey had never been good at school stuff; math wasn’t his worst subject, but that wasn’t saying much when most of his grades never rose above a C anyway. Uncle Donald was an accountant sometimes. He could explain it to Dewey… but Dewey would have to tell him why he had the richest duck in the world’s accounting files in the first place. Which yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>nope</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Uncle Donald was going to flip when he found out about the switch. Dewey wasn’t telling him any sooner than he had to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring the twist of guilt in his stomach, Dewey spun away from the desk. This was a mansion! Home of the richest, and before the switch, most strange and exciting duck he’d ever heard of. There had to be more to do than sit around and collect dust while dealing with stupid numbers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey slid off the seat and headed for the door. Looked like he would have to make his own entertainment around here. He idly wondered if he could use that shield he saw earlier to slide down the banister. Maybe if he found a video camera...</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The elevator door opened to the brightly lit lab. Scrooge hadn’t even fully stepped out when he heard the familiar sound of his head inventor yelling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“INTERN! Get the laser cutter, now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Dr. Gearloose!” The patter of footsteps disappeared under the whir and screech of a saw. Scrooge stomped into the lab. Gyro stood at a messy table, blueprints, tools, and the latest of his inventions scattered in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gyro!” Scrooge shouted to be heard. The saw cut off. “I have a question for you!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can assure you, the bug killing mechanical rats have all been rounded up.” Gyro said, removing his safety goggles. “Any power loss in the building is not caused by them or my top secret project.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing.” Gyro said, swiftly kicking a box under the table. “You have a question?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Hubert has been acting strange lately.” Scrooge stated bluntly. He tapped the ground with his cane, debating whether or not to share the symptoms of Hubert’s burgeoning oddities. “He’s distracted all the time. He hasn’t done a lick of the work I’ve assigned, and I haven’t seen a single checklist in four days.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>He also nearly gave me a heart attack by doing flips off the chandelier, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Scrooge didn’t say</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“The lad is down here a lot.” Scrooge finished. “Do you have any idea what could be the cause?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seems to me he’s gone back to the drawing board.” Gyro answered, digging through a pile of tools next to his invention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does that mean?” Scrooge asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It means what he’s trying isn’t working, so like any good scientist, he’s searching for a new method. Now where is that laser cutter? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Intern</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrooge resisted the urge to pinch his brows and sigh. Gyro was leaps and bounds ahead of most people. Even Scrooge, smarter than the smarties, was left in the dust of that frenetic scientific mind at times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A new method for what, exactly?” He asked as the intern — </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fenton</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his name was Fenton — scuttled over, laser cutter in hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gyro finally looked at Scrooge, confusion pushing past his normal irritated expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean you don’t know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Know what?” Scrooge snapped, temper beginning to flare. “That’s what I’m trying to get you to tell me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unbelievable.” Gyro muttered to himself. “I don’t know if it’s better or worse, that it isn’t intentional.” To Scrooge, he said, “Hue is trying to tell you what he wants. You weren’t getting the message before, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and now I see why, </span>
  </em>
  <span>so this is his way of pushing the envelope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrooge blinked, struggling to comprehend Gyro's meaning and snagging on the nickname <em>Hue</em>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me put it in simple terms.” Gyro said, ignoring Scrooge’s growing vexation. “The only thing that kid has ever wanted is your attention. The grades, the checklists, the perfectionist tendencies, everything he does is to impress you, in the hopes that you might give him a minute. A pat on the back, a conversation that isn’t all business — whatever it is little boys want from their father figures.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I give him plenty of attention.” Scrooge said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. You give him plenty of </span>
  <em>
    <span>work. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There’s a difference.” Gyro argued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s with me at the office almost every week!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>working </span>
  </em>
  <span>every week. Do you ever spend time with him one on one, outside of the office? Go to the park, play board games, talk about his interests? At least tell me you talk about his inventions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Inventions?” Scrooge questioned, and Gyro nearly blew a gasket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> about this kid?” Gyro asked, ignoring the sound of Fenton choking behind him. “Hobbies? Favorite food? Favorite color?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>Of course 
  </em>
  <span>I know those things!” Scrooge said, scrambling to bring them to mind. Scrooge had seen enough checklists over the years to know Hubert was fond of the blasted things. His favorite color had to be red. He was always wearing red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, tell him! Show him you’re interested, that you pay attention!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will!” Scrooge yelled. He’d heard enough. He stomped to the exit, thoughts racing. Behind him, Gyro began working again, angrily muttering to himself and his intern all the while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How am I the one to notice this? I’m an inventor, not a therapist.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a therapist,” Fenton agreed, “but you are a father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator door closed before Scrooge could hear any more. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Launchpad, Dewey discovered, was the only normal person on Scrooge’s staff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which meant he really wasn’t that normal. Dewey had seen him crash three separate times, twice when Dewey was in the limo, and that wasn’t counting all the fender benders and curb jumping he’d done on the course of the drive to the Money Bin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But at least he hadn’t come up and kissed Dewey out of nowhere, like that weird kid Boyd did. Or drop a box of spare robot parts into his arms and start raving about the incompetencies of assistants and board members. Or talk for five minutes straight on fifty three different topics before sprinting off to help in the lab (Dewey started counting after Fenton’s fifth topic change). Or chase him around a library chucking books at his head and screaming about bloodlines and riddles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After giving Scrooge and the rest of his madcap staff the slip, Dewey had wandered around the Bin, hoping to find the room with all the treasure. Instead, he found Launchpad, and found an instant new best friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat in the Money Bin’s private parking garage after going out to get burritos (walking, because he would like to return to his Uncle Donald in one piece). After a few minutes of peaceful munching, Launchpad broke the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, you’re like a whole different person.” Launchpad said, spraying bits of chewed beef. Dewey froze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“R-really?” He asked. Was he about to be found out?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Launchpad said. He swallowed his beakful of burrito. “You actually talked to me today. And you don’t look as miserable as you usually do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh.” Dewey said, but before he could question Launchpad on that topic, the door at the end of the lot swung open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you are!” Scrooge said, striding purposefully toward them. His feet faltered a bit when he saw the food in their hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, ah,” Scrooge started, “I wanted to know if you would like to get lunch. It appears you already have some.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep.” Launchpad said obliviously. “You want a burrito, Mr. McD?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No thank you Launchpad.” Scrooge hesitated, staring at Dewey and looking almost apprehensive. It was a strange expression on his face, especially since Dewey had never seen him do much besides scowl and look serious. Dewey almost wanted to invite him to come sit with them, but memories of all the arguments and awkward silences of the past few days stayed his tongue. Maybe Scrooge would be more civil in the presence of a third party?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The decision was taken out of Dewey’s hands when Scrooge tipped his hat to them, saying “I’ll leave you to it then. Another time.” He turned on his heel and left the same way he came.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that was weird.” Dewey said as soon as the door closed behind Scrooge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think so?” Launchpad asked. “Mr. McD seemed pretty normal to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you say that?” Dewey asked, curious. “He seemed kind of nervous.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Plus he didn’t scowl or grumble or start yelling. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dewey was aware he’d only known the guy a few days and was probably stepping on toes, but still. Scrooge McDuck didn’t seem the type to be nervous about anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. McD is always a little nervy around you.” Launchpad said. “And it’s not because you’re usually intense and super smart and make me feel dumb--” Dewey made a mental note to give Hubert a stern talking to before they switched back “-- it’s because, outside of the things he knows really well like work, he isn’t so good with his words. He doesn’t know you really well at all, and is scared of messing up because he has trouble expressing how much he cares.” Launchpad finished, punctuating his conclusions with a voracious bite of his burrito.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey stared at Launchpad, and (not for the first time) felt like he was in over his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he made the suggestion that he, Louie, and Hubert switch places, he expected it to be a little joke -- a fun prank to laugh about someday, as soon as Uncle Donald stopped having a cow over Dewey’s recklessness. He’d get to chill in a billionaire’s mansion for a while, maybe travel to some cool places. He wasn’t supposed to start worrying over the complicated, unhappy relationship of two strangers.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wished for a different family, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hubert had said at their one and only in person meeting. Dewey remembered not understanding that at the time -- family was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>best thing ever</span>
  </em>
  <span>, even if they were a little embarrassing and overprotective and had too many fish jokes -- but then he’d met a duck who barely spoke to his nephew, and when he did it was to grumble about him or dismiss him or give him busywork. Dewey couldn’t imagine getting through life without his uncles’ love and support. Between Scrooge’s temper and the stifling silence of the mansion… no wonder Hubert wanted out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey didn’t want to touch Scrooge and Hubert’s issues with a ten foot barge pole, but what if Launchpad was right? Dewey, Louie, and Hubert </span>
  <em>
    <span>(Huey)</span>
  </em>
  <span> would have to go back to their real lives eventually. Hubert would probably be better prepared if he knew some of what was going on in his uncle’s head. Dewey could try to help by getting the ball rolling. He could talk to Scrooge and not start an argument, right? Yeah. Totally! As for Hubert...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could you like, maybe repeat all of that real quick? I want to record it.” Dewey said, pulling out his phone. “No reason.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure!” Launchpad said. “Wait. Maybe? Do you mean, word for word though? Cause I don’t know…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just as close as you can get it.” Dewey said, hitting record.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few blunders, and more space on his phone taken up than Dewey was fully comfortable with, he got a recording with the gist of Launchpad’s little spiel. It wasn’t perfect, or as to the point as the original, candid version was, but it would have to do. Dewey didn’t consider himself to be very intelligent (be it with school work or emotions), but it sounded like something Hubert needed to hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Launchpad.” Dewey said, deadly serious as he put his phone away. “You are a very smart guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, thanks Hue!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ensuing bear hug knocked the air out of Dewey, and they both ended up covered in cheese and grease, but Dewey considered it worth it for the enormous smile on Launchpad’s face.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scrooge was on the verge of regretting his decision to get to know Hubert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would never admit it, of course. He loved his nephew, and was determined to fix this startling gap that had developed between them. But Scrooge had never been the most affectionate of ducks, or the most patient, and Hubert’s ebullient chatter was starting to grate. Gyro was right about one thing. The boy was practically basking in Scrooge’s attention. He hadn’t stopped talking since the moment Scrooge initiated a conversation on the morning drive to the Bin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Music, tv shows Scrooge had never heard of, online dance fads, the occasional question fired at Scrooge’s adventuring past, fishing techniques (of all things), and “have you read Emma Glamour’s It List? Of course you have you’re the richest duck in the world. I have several theories on what will be on her upcoming list. First is sick yo-yo tricks--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one—“ </span>
  <em>
    <span>cares,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Scrooge nearly snapped, but bit his tongue sharply. A memory sprung to his mind, of his nephew rambling, eyes shining and hands flapping with excitement as he gushed over his latest obsession. And Scrooge had said—- Scrooge said—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No one cares about blasted dendrowhatever it is, Hubert. If you want to make a real difference in this world you should invest your time in learning something actually useful, not waste it reading about dead trees.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When did he get to be so cold? To his own nephew, at that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one ever told me about those.” Scrooge finished lamely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hubert </span>
  <em>
    <span>beams </span>
  </em>
  <span>at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I can tell you </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>about it!”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dewey almost missed the mansion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrooge’s people were so weird. He stiffly stepped into the elevator beside Scrooge, fighting the urge to blush over a silly kiss from a kid he didn’t even know. At least he would be able to sneak away soon and hang out with Launchpad again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So.” Scrooge said, and Dewey knew that tone. That was the sound of an adult trying to start a conversation. A very </span>
  <em>
    <span>awkward </span>
  </em>
  <span>conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you and Gyro’s lad, er, dating?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Dewey blurted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gyro’s lad? Oh, the inventor’s kid. Boyd. The parrot who gave him a kiss every time Dewey came to the Bin, thinking he was Hubert. Were they dating? Dewey had no idea. Hubert had said nothing about it, but Boyd had cuddled up to Dewey at the theater. The kisses, the times he reached for Dewey’s hand. It certainly looked like dating. But should he tell Scrooge that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey must have been silent too long. Sometimes he lost time like that, lost in his own thoughts to the point that the world hit skip without him noticing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to judge, laddie.” Scrooge said, pulling him back to reality. The old duck sounded oddly quiet, tender and sincere in a way Dewey hadn’t heard before. “I may have been born in Victorian times, but I have always been ahead of the curve. Love is love, and while I think you are far too young to call anything love, I do not have a problem with you dating another young lad.” And wow, okay, Dewey was not equipped for this conversation at all. Hubert should be in his position, listening to his uncle say this stuff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Uncle Scrooge.” Dewey finally said. It wasn’t a real answer -- Dewey didn’t want to confirm anything that Hubert would have to refute later -- but something needed to be said. And Dewey knew that if he were ever in this position, if it was Uncle Donald and he having this talk, he’d have his uncle in a great big bear hug about now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrooge would probably die of shock if Dewey hugged him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrooge put a hand on his shoulder, and Dewey settled for leaning into his side. They separated as soon as the elevator arrived at Scrooge’s floor. Scrooge headed for his office, and Dewey scurried away to find a quiet corner so he could call Hubert. This wasn’t something you told someone over text. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scrooge was ready to flip a chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had taken Gyro’s advice, but for whatever reason his efforts didn’t seem to be getting through to Hubert. The boy was still distracted, disappearing whenever Scrooge turned his back, avoiding his assignments, and getting into everything Scrooge had spent years hiding and keeping him away from. None of the conversation starters Scrooge had gleaned from his conversation with Gyro seemed to be working; Hubert dodged questions about Boyd, and hedged around talking about mechanics and inventions of any kind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrooge wondered if he should try to steer the boy’s interests more toward his own. It would certainly make conversations less headache inducing, and it might even lead to common ground. Adventure was out, for obvious reasons, but besides that… The only time they actively spent together revolved around maintaining Scrooge’s various business enterprises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrooge frowned. Hubert had never been interested in Scrooge’s work. Yes, he did the odd jobs and tasks Scrooge set for him, attended his lessons on the business empire Scrooge had built, and studied diligently, but Scrooge could tell the boy was just going through the motions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the information Gyro had provided, Scrooge could also see where Hubert had done things only because Scrooge asked and the boy wanted to impress him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was none of the passion, none of the drive Scrooge had felt ever since he was thirteen and standing on the side of a busy Glasgow street with an American dime in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe the boy just didn’t know enough about the work to truly appreciate it. Outside of the paperwork and accounting Scrooge often had him check over, Hubert’s education was purely academic. He needed real world experience, a chance to really grapple with and understand the cutthroat world of business. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mind made up, Scrooge set off to find Hubert. The lad was as slippery as an eel when he didn’t want to be found. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bored. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bored. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Booooooorrrrred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey balanced a pencil on his finger. At one end of the table, the buzzards on Scrooge’s board (bored, board, ha!) sat hunched, looking like grim funeral goers in their dark suits and darker frowns. On the other, Scrooge stood, riled to shouting and occasionally beating on the table as he argued why this that or the other was important and </span>
  <em>
    <span>he was the cheapest</span>
  </em>
  <span> blah blah blah. Dewey had tuned out about five minutes into the meeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey let the pencil drop. Scrooge wanted to bring him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>of these meetings. Dewey couldn’t take it anymore. He was bored at the mansion, he was bored at the Bin, and he couldn’t even make time to talk to Launchpad anymore. Forget helping Hubert and Scrooge mend their bond or whatever. He had to get out, or he was going to explode.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey pulled out his phone, letting Scrooge's raving fade as he typed out an S.O.S. to the group chat. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>D: guya</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>D: *guys</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>D: he keeps taking me to metingss</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>L: so?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>D: *meetings</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>D: im going 2 die of boredom</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>D: we need 2 switch again</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>H: I concur. I am not suited for the adventures Webby and Della enjoy</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>L: get in line buddy</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>D: ooooooohhhh adventures?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey quickly shoved his phone back up his sleeve when Scrooge stopped shouting. The old duck sat huffily in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back to business.” One of the vultures said, like Scrooge’s little tantrum never happened. Dewey resisted the urge to bang his head on the table. He would be out of here soon, and the others were up for another switch.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scrooge was starting to wonder if there was a gas leak somewhere in the mansion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would probably account for the odd feeling Scrooge had this morning. It would explain Hubert’s strange behavior, for absolute certainty. Gone was the fidgeting. Hubert sat perfectly still, slouching comfortably in his seat at the other end of the table. Scrooge couldn’t help but watch him, some instinct warning him that something was amiss. The boy was watching him. Had been since the second he entered the room, half lidded eyes following his every movement. Scrooge wasn’t sure if he felt more like an exotic creature in the zoo, or some prey animal that had just realized a predator was present. Which was ridiculous. Hubert was his nephew, and only eleven to boot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Uncle Scrooge.” Hubert started. Slow and purposeful, not at all like the rush of questions he’d been bombarded with for the past week. “Do you think we could go over how you earned your fortune again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, lad,” Scrooge said, perking up. “Business is more than just amassing wealth though. It’s knowing when and how to use it, to build with it and create more wealth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fascinating. I’m really interested in learning, all of a sudden. I figure you’re the best to teach me.” Scrooge nearly jumped for joy. Maybe whatever was going on with Hubert wasn’t such a bad thing, if it made him actually take an interest in Scrooge’s work. He knew those meetings would do the trick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They left the dishes for Duckworth. Hubert had finished his breakfast and asked for seconds, unusual in and of itself. What was more unusual were the plates carelessly pushed aside as they were emptied; usually the lad stacked them neatly when he was done, out of some sense of misguided politeness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scrooge wondered where in that mess the boy’s silverware had disappeared to. It never occurred to him to check his nephew’s pockets.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Phooey, if you survived reading this, I hope I did your au justice! Thanks for making it and answering my fifty million questions.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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